Thursday, May 1, 2014

I get distracted at toddler story hour at the library. I guess I don't find The Hungry Little Caterpillar as edge-of-your-seat compelling as my daughter, Claire, does. My mind seems to wander to the other mothers seated around the perimeter of the circle. Sometimes, I even get caught staring. Creepy, right? But I just can't help myself!

I marvel at how young the mothers are compared to my forties self. Perhaps, "marvel" is code for covet their flawless skin and the youthful stretches of time that they have ahead of them. But I marvel too. I marvel about how different my path to motherhood has been from a lot of women.

When I was single and approaching 40, I felt different then too. My non-marital status always left me open to strange, unsolicited questions and comments from people that made me extremely uncomfortable. I never said so, though. I think a part of me believed I actually owed them an explanation.

One time, an acquaintance of mine introduced me to her mother by saying, “This is Rachel. We have to find her a man. She’s just so great.”

{My thought: Why do I need a man? Why am I not fine as I am?}

Her mother, then, responded, “How old are you?”

When I said “thirty-eight", she paused and said, “Well…maybe, there's a good divorced man out there for you..."

{subtext: my advice to you is lower your sights.}

This kind of subtext was always close to the surface when these types of conversations arose. Sometimes, the words beneath the words seemed to scream louder than the words themselves. Here’s what people have said to me over the years {and the subtext that I heard}:

"I don't understand why you're still single!"{Why are you still single?}

“It’ll happen someday.”{I am at a loss about what to say to you, so I offer this lame encouragement.}

“All the good ones are already taken.”{Settle. Now.}

“You haven’t met the right one.”{I can only imagine the bad choices in men that you've made.}

“Do you wanna have kids?”{I hope not, because there's no way that's happening at this stage in the game.}

“Any man who’s single in his 40’s must have a lot of baggage.”{You’re near 40 too. You must have a lot of baggage.}

“Any man who’s single in his 40’s most have commitment issues.”{You must have commitment issues.}

“What was your longest relationship?”{You must have commitment issues.}

“Any man who’s single in his 40’s must be gay.”{You must be gay.}

“Have you tried switching teams?”{Are you a lesbian?}

“Thought about becoming a cougar?”{Accept it. You're getting ready to be put out to pasture.}

“You don’t need a man anyway.”{Make peace with your lot as Old Maid.}

“My brother's still single. Let me set you two up.”{You'll only have age in common. But, really, can either of you afford to be picky at this point?}

“It’s a jungle out there.”{Lemme tell you how glad I am not to be in your shoes.}

“Have you tried internet dating?”{Can’t you get a man on your own?}

Now, I'm at the part of my story where I get to tell the people who said these things what I really thought of their commentary. Yes, some of this list did come true. Yes, I did meet my husband on Match.com and, yes, I am now what is referred to as a "cougar". But I did not switch teams, nor did I get put out to pasture.

I happily found love, marriage and the proverbial baby carriage after forty. The current organization of my family feels like a triumph in the context of the lame comments and questions I endured over the years.

But, really, why should anyone need to get married and have children to feel triumphant?

We are all on our own personal journey with a unique timeline and purpose. Social expectations and cultural norms should not define its direction. When it comes down to it, a person's path is solely the business of her and her God, if she has one. Surely, God meant to include people living outside the nuclear family paradigm.

Personally, I know one little girl who will be happy that things went down the way they did in my life. I can't imagine them happening any differently either.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

“Poop regression”...I never anticipated googling those words when we started potty training (or ever, really). Then again, I never thought I’d be writing a blog called The Tao of Poop either. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I’d ever make it to motherhood, but I digress. What I really want to talk about is how useless expert advice on the internet is in general.

When I google “poop regression”, I have very specific needs around its sudden appearance in my life. I want to know why my daughter has decided to start pooping in her pants again after a six months stretch of using the potty, and I want a child expert to tell me how to fix the situation.

I mean, Claire’s not revealing any truths. I have NO CLUE what’s going on in that diabolical little head of hers. And I'm desperate. I practically had a ritual burning of the Diaper Genie when (I thought) it was time to get rid of it. I was just about ready to add an "ed" to train as opposed to an "ing". Now, we have swiftly veered off course.

Google, I'm looking for a roadmap!

My search query brings up a plethora of information on the subject. Seems like a good start. Yet, website after website pretty much tells me the same thing. None of the advice is helpful, despite it’s authoritative tone or air of commiseration.

I get LOTS of reassurance that I’m not alone and that my problem is common. Great. They might as well say “put that into your pipe and smoke it” for all this touchy-feely empathy helps me actually solve my problem.

Then, the standard line about why poop regression happens just pisses me off or makes me more confused...

"Perhaps, your child wasn’t 'truly' potty trained to begin with."

"What?" I want to yell at the computer, “You don’t know me! How dare you judge me! It’s been six months! Six months, dammit!...So, ok, calm down; you're yelling at a website," I say to myself. "Keep reading. If it isn’t that, how about..."

"There’s likely been a big change in your child’s life that’s caused the sudden regression."

Now, I just look at my daughter like she’s the Sphinx. "What has happened to her?? Is she ok??" I think, desperately, "Speak child, speak!!!"

I finally get to the solutions that the experts have to offer, which are always just plain common sense, e.g. not helpful....

"Wait it out, be kind and gentle, get her on the potty at regular intervals."

"C'mon, can't you do better than that?! I’m looking for something that I can hang my hat on, expert people! I could've figure that out on my own!" I implore to the computer screen.

But it isn’t the experts’ fault. Really, I'm just mad at myself. I'm mad that I had a fight with a computer. I'm mad because I should have known that I would have been better off praying to the porcelain gods than looking for any wisdom on the internet.

And The Tao of Poop does know better. The Tao of Poop knows that my daughter is her own person, and that any designs I have on being her puppet master are limited, at best. There’s a lot about Claire that I will never understand and that I need to just roll with. For some reason, my daughter seems to like to throw a monkey wrench in things. C'est la vie!

It's a bitter pill to swallow, so I go on a futile and fruitless search for answers to impossible questions.

In the meantime, here we are, again…waiting it out…knee deep in...

Connect with: Bloglovin', FB, Twitter, G+, PinterestPhoto Source: Manish Bansal This photo has been altered, and it's use does not suggest that the licenser endorses me, it's use or this blog. LicenseWelcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Sunday, March 9, 2014

The Demas family had a bad morning getting out of the house the other day. Or, perhaps, it's more accurate to say I had a rough start.

We were off to a family get-together and the stars were not aligning for a swift exit. Usually, my stellar time management skills make up for the added tasks that a child implies. Bad circumstances, along with poor strategic planning, made this trip different.

First, Claire decided she absolutely, 100% needed mama's undivided attention. George and I usually attack getting ready by handing off our daughter to one another, like a baton in a relay race. On this day, Claire had other things in mind.

As did the weather, which decided to change seasons overnight. Dividing my attention between Claire and locating new clothes in the hinterlands of the closet was not part of my to-do list.

While working half-brained and one-handed, I thought I might have just entered a sadistic challenge devised for a competition reality show like Survivor (except that I had no chance of winning a million dollars for my multi-tasking efforts).

What's more, I was shuttling between the bedroom and the kitchen to make the dish we had promised to bring (nothing like waiting 'til the last minute). In general, chopping, mixing, and stirring, while a child hangs on my apron strings, wears me out. Add a deadline to get out the door, and I feel I'm going to boil over like the pot on the stove.

I was actually pulling off most of the shitshow. It's part of my controlling nature, an illness, really -- trying to push myself beyond my own limits to see what I'm capable of doing. I end up feeling sickly proud of myself.

The flip-side of the coin is that I feel exhausted and resentful as well -- bad for me and bad for the people I love. I remind myself of Mussolini, actually. Yes, Mussolini kept the trains running on time...while losing track of humanity altogether.

Sure, we got to our destination like clockwork. My family got left behind, though, metaphorically speaking.

Children have a way of finding your Achilles heel. My obsession with productivity can make me forget that love exists in the doing. I lose faith that the result will follow. I need to remember to slow down, and take my eye off of the proverbial prize.

When I breathe, allow people to help, and let things be less than perfect, that's when the space for relationships opens. I find myself surprised that the present really is enough. Everything seems to start falling into place...or it doesn't. That's just fine too.

Photo Source: Collins110, Fickr, this photo has been adapted and does not suggest the licenser endorses its uses or this blog. License

Connect with: Bloglovin', FB, Twitter, G+, PinterestWelcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Parenting books are all about chronicling children's milestones. The experts advise on what they are and when to expect them. The doctors break them up into neat and tidy categories: the emotional, the physical and the social. Your child's development outlined in a rather straightforward fashion.

But there are other less celebrated milestones that parents are left to discover on their own. It’s uncanny how universal they are.

To our delight or dismay, every parent on the planet will deal with every child in the world doing one or more of the following with pure and utter abandon. I call them, "The Inevitables of Parenthood":

1) Riding their cat or dog like a horse.

2) Throwing away a cellphone, important piece of mail or remote control.

3) Screaming &@#! in public.

4) Using their head like a wrecking ball.

5) Deciding night is day {never the reverse}.

6) Eating dirt, paper, paint and/or glue.

7) Throwing or otherwise engaging with their own poop.

8) Glomming onto some television show, character and/or song that you find abhorrent.

9) Ensconcing themselves in toilet paper.

10) Kicking their father in the balls.

11) Dining on pet food.

12) Sticking a small object so far into an orifice as to render it unretrievable without professional know-how.

13) Doing any or all of these things repeatedly, despite your best efforts to cajole, plead, order, admonish and/or otherwise deter them.

If you’re a parent and these things haven’t happened to you yet, be warned, they are inevitable. Your

response is inevitable too. It will likely be similar to other parents who have gone before you. Of course, the amplitude of your child's behavior and your own mood will determine the quality of your response too. But, on a good day (or if you're in pubic), you will laugh. On a bad day, you will scream, curse or cry to the heavens above. Either way, your encounter with one of life's inevitables will pass and you will carry on.

If, on that day, you happen to find yourself in a particularly philosophical mood, you just might be able to rationalize that you are getting in some good training for the inevitables of the teenage years...

Connect with: Bloglovin', FB, Twitter, G+, PinterestPhoto Source: Paul Mayne, Flickr This photo has been altered, and it's use does not suggest that the licenser endorses me, it's use or this blog. LicenseWelcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Monday, February 24, 2014

How do you feel about strangers disciplining your children? My two year old, Claire, and I had such an incident recently. It started innocently enough...

We stepped onto an elevator behind another man. The three of us took our places and waited for the doors to close. In the beat before we were moving, Claire reached up to push a button.

The man yelled, “Don’t push that!”

The volume of his voice filled the small space of the elevator car with import. Stunned, Claire pulled her index finger out of the air and hid it in the palm of her other hand. She turned around and looked at him, her brow knitted in confusion.

I took a deep breath and said to my daughter, “It’s ok, Claire. Go ahead and push it.” She did. I turned to him and said, “She likes to push the buttons, so we’ve taught her how to press the 'close door' button.”

He responded, “Oh, I thought she was pushing a random floor.”

There you have it. We were on our way up. No apology from the man for yelling at my daughter. We rode the rest of the way in silence.

My head wasn’t silent though. Inside, I was roaring. I tried to remind myself of other encounters with strangers, the ones I’m grateful for. The time when someone stopped my daughter when she’s broken away from me in a crowd. The time someone picked her up after she has fallen at the park. The many, many times that people have simply returned her friendly "hello". I tried to remember that this man's behavior was an aberration, or to look at things from his perspective. Telling myself these things was not enough to counteract the other voices in my head.

I was thinking about how much I wanted to tell the man that he had crossed a line.

I was thinking of saying that, unless my daughter is about to set herself or someone else on fire or something of that ilk, discipline is my domain and privilege as her mother.

I was thinking, “Dude, I get the terrible repercussions of accidentally having to stop at another floor on an elevator (dripping sarcasm here), but keep your big, fat trap shut. Try picking on someone your own size, you selfish bully!”

Instead of saying these things, I’m writing them here. Perhaps, I didn't say anything in the moment because Claire was with me. Or because I was trying to take the high ground. Or because I'm a wimp. Perhaps, I was worried that if I got started, I wouldn't be able to stop. Perhaps, this blog is my place to vent; where I go to find support from like-minded moms or to see if others have a different perspective to offer.

It’s not Claire and my first encounter on the elevator either. About a year ago, I wrote a post about a stranger who ignored Claire's hello on the elevator, and how angry and sad the interaction made me. I didn't say anything to that man either. That post brought out particularly impassioned opinions from readers. People on one side believed that the man was small and pathetic, and that ignoring the friendly gesture of a child is the lowest of low. People on the other side believed that I shouldn't have been angry at all, who told me that I should have given the man the benefit of the doubt or considered that he might have been having a bad day or, worse, a bad life.

So folks, what do you think? Have you ever had an adult behave in a way towards your children that rubbed you the wrong way? How do you feel when strangers step in to tell your child what to do? How do you think I handled this man? Should I have flat out told the man not to discipline my children or that his tone was aggressive? Or should I have let it go? Should I have given him the benefit of the doubt and gone on with my day? Now that the incident is over and I have time to reflect, I find myself filled with questions…

Connect with: Bloglovin', FB, Twitter, G+, PinterestWelcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Sunday, February 16, 2014

My daughter, Claire, and I engage in all kinds of kid-friendly activities on a daily basis. We read books, do puzzles, make play-doh, sing songs, wash her baby dolls, bake cookies, occasionally, we enter a land of make-believe.

When I say occasionally, I mean that this morning I said to my two year old, “I don’t want to play castle and princesses right now.” I also mumbled under my breath, “Imaginative play just isn't my favorite thing.”

The mumble part was directed at no one in particular, but my husband, George, piped in with, “But it’s her favorite!” His tone was filled with implication or, at least that’s how I heard it.

What I heard was that I was guilty of depriving my daughter of a vital experience that was essential to her very being.

My husband’s no dummy. He knows just how to get to me. He had appealed to an insidious side of myself. -- the part that desires to be all things to all people at all times, especially my daughter. I almost bought into it, too. I almost succumbed to the "perfect mommy" myth.

But then I remembered something about my husband. I remembered how George flat out refuses to indulge in sensory play with Claire. I'm talking the second I even mention the word "cloud dough", he practically alerts the press about his refusal to get all messy and stuff.

Sensory play is considered mom's domain. I graciously abide.

So I’m taking a cue from my husband. I do not need to be all things for my daughter. It's fine if she sees that I have limits. It's fine if she learns that people have tastes and likes, and that they don’t always jibe with hers. It’s fine if papa is the one who wears the crown around this house.

In many ways, I am serving all of us by saying "no"...to imaginative play and to other things as well. I’m letting my husband have his own unique relationship with Claire. I’m showing my daughter I'm human, I'm teaching her some valuable things about being authentic in relationships, and I'm modeling how to respect her needs. I’m also protecting us all from mama burn-out.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that I can’t occasionally don a crown and hold a staff in the name of my daughter's continued development. It also means I don’t have to buy into my husband’s attempt at a snow job either.

Connect with: Bloglovin', FB, Twitter, G+, PinterestWelcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Blogging has become the equivalent of a church confessional of sorts. Okay, I'm game! Or, rather, I have no shame...which brings me to my first confession: I would do anything for a laugh, including fessing up to some Bad Mommy moments. My second confession? Some of these dirty little secrets amount to more than "moments"...

I'm guilty of...
#1 - Lying to my two year old, Claire, about my phone being broken, so I don't have to watch Elmo again.#2 - Serving the same meal for breakfast, lunch and dinner.#3 - Pretending to be sicker than I really am, so my husband takes over childcare duties for awhile.#4 - Shoving a Mallomar in my mouth, while secretly hiding from Claire in the kitchen.#5 - Only cutting my daughter's fingernails when we go somewhere special.
#6 - Playing hide and go seek together, so I can take a power nap while Claire’s looking for me.#7 - Rationalizing that its ok to not brush her teeth at night, because there's always tomorrow.#8 - Using my daughter as an excuse to get out of social engagements.

#9 - Leaving one too many sippy cups of spoiling milk lying around the house.#10 - Celebrating loud fart noises with my daughter.#11 - Counting down the days til Claire goes to preschool.

#12 - Having no desire to go back to work, once preschool starts.

#13 - Blogging and ignoring my daughter (like right now).#14 - Only believing #13 is such a crime, because the rest don't really amount to much in the scheme of life.

So, folks, how many "Hail Mary's" do I need to say? Am I absolved yet?

Sunday, February 9, 2014

"What do you do?"...The proverbial conversation starter that leaves me flummoxed every time.

“Um…I’m just at home, taking care of my daughter, Claire,” I said almost apologetically to a woman at a party recently...

Dead silence…

So I filled the air with: “I used to be a teacher..What do you do?”

Why did I feel so taken off my center by a complete stranger's question? Why the “just” part? Why did I need to reference my former life at all? Why did I shift the focus off of me?

It’s not as if I don’t think I have anything to say about being a mom. Hell, I’m writing a blog about it!

Part of my unease had to do with the “do” bit. I don’t do mothering. I am a mother.

Plus, no one wants to hear what I do everyday. That’s one of the wild things about parenthood. The daily doingness of it can be banal and mindless. Yet, I do these things for this sublime creature, and will gladly do them over and over again. I don’t want to talk about them over and over again, though.

Nor does everyone at a party want to listen. I'm paranoid that people are going to hear "mom", and think I’m going to trap them into self-absorbed talk about children at any moment. Indeed, a guy at the party did get stuck in just such a conversation. Another woman at the party started talking about how long to breastfeed on each breast. This guy just happened to be standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now, me, I was interested in this topic. I'm all about the breast. I'm also mesmerized by every little thing my daughter and other little ones do. My husband too. He actually contributed valuable insight to this conversation. But this single guy in his 30’s? I doubt he was that interested. Talking about babies is an acquired taste.

Likewise, the single woman who I rendered speechless with my latest career as a SAHM. I do understand her, completely and utterly. I used to be her, living in New York City. Manhattan is supposed to be exciting, an exotic place of adventure and surprise. Each night is supposed to hold endless possibility. When I was her, I didn’t want to hear about things like nighttime feedings either. Discussions about the night needed to be about the next party not the party in the diaper.

So there it is – I am now the woman who ruins the mystique of Manhattan for single people.

Really, I am so happy to be Claire’s mom. I don’t miss the career I left behind. Clearly, I have what's referred to as a "first-world problem" here. Still, that type of changing of the guard stings a bit.

Just you wait until Claire's old enough to find Manhattan an exotic place of adventure and surprise. I'm sure I'll be tons of fun then…

Connect with: Bloglovin', FB, Twitter, G+, PinterestWelcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Thursday, February 6, 2014

I had a dream late in my pregnancy that I gave birth to what I called “The Big Buddha Baby”. In it, my daughter entered the world full force, all round-faced and chubby, happy and smiling.

I found my dream funny, because I'd read that some women dream of giving birth to babies with green heads or to animals like fish. I'd heard that the cause of this psychedelic dreaming is fear of the unknown and anxiety about giving birth. My dream was quite optimistic, not normally like my usual doom-and-gloom self.

I also thought my dream couldn’t possibly be prophetic, because I believed that babies generally come out scrawny, misshapen and not so happy to greet the world. Sure enough, with the exception of the smiling part, Claire was the epitome of "The Big Buddha Baby" -- weighing 8 pounds 6 ounces and with a full shock of hair. She continues to be at the 85 percentile of weight for her age, and the size of her belly is matched only by the roundness of her cheeks.

Her Buddha-like qualities go beyond the physical too.

When Claire was a really little baby, many people asked me if she were on a schedule yet. I was so perplexed by this question that I didn’t know how to answer. Like most children, my daughter was and is so fully in the moment. More than me training her to be on a schedule, she has taught me how to be in the present. It's not something that comes naturally to me.

She's two and a half now. Just like when she was a baby, I lie with her while she's falling asleep. I listen for that deep breathing -- the sign that she's dreaming of her own big Buddha. The breathy cadence of those little lungs breathing in and out, making that sweet, sweet baby version of a snore -- its 's a beautiful sound...when I'm really listening. Instead, I'm usually making a list in my head of all the things that I’m going to do during her slumber (most are very exotic -- like doing the dishes, checking my email or going to the bathroom)…

Then, she wakes up. I'm crestfallen. “Wait, I’ve just gotten her to sleep! What about all those things I’d planned?” I think. If I’m not careful, my expectations become more important than being with my child.

Sometimes, I get so ahead of myself, I’m sure I can predict the future. Claire usually finds a way to surprise me. My husband, George, will come home late at night and I will say pessimistically, “I’ve tried everything to get her to sleep, and I’ve been at it for hours! She's NEVER going to go the f7&k to sleep!"

He’ll say, “Here, let me try”....She’ll be asleep in five minutes.

I think, “Wait! I just tried the same thing. It didn’t work!”

Would I rather be right or have her asleep? The latter, for sure.

Of course, there are things that need to get done, and I would absolutely, 100% be lying if I said that the fact that I can't get her to fall asleep doesn't drive me crazy. The need for mommy "me" time is important too.

But that's beside the point here. The point is that I can get lost in my own head thinking about this problem or that thing on my to-do list. I can be completely sure that I know what's going to happen next.

Suddenly, I look over at Claire, and she's smiling. Her eyes are piercing the darkness, while her nose crinkles. Sometimes, she will touch her hand to my cheek and say, "Mama!"

In vain, I try to gather a presentable-to-society outfit. I try to text my friend, as I race out the door. His number isn’t in my cellphone! How is that possible?! I rush to the restaurant. What? He’s not here. I check his emails on my phone…

Our plans are for NEXT Friday! Oh! Duh...and crap!

(Later, I notice that his number was actually on our email correspondence.)

I am out of practice about having a “real” life. You know, meeting friends and such. Does my scatterbrained state of confusion suggest I'm suffering from the proverbial “Mommy Brain”?

It’s true. I exist in some sort of vague reality that's off the

time/space continuum. I have morphed into a toddler state of mind, complete with fairies and unicorns.

Yet, I struggle against the “Mommy Brain” cliché. I want to believe it’s an old wives’ tale. “Mommy Brain” seems to add to the stereotype that moms (particularly of the Stay-at-home variety) aren’t current -- that we have lost our edge and are no longer “productive” members of society.

It’s why I put “real” in quotes above. I mean I have a real life! It’s just not my former life.

Is my child literally making me lose my mind?

I do see evidence of “Mommy Brain” all around me. I am more likely to know the words to a song from the movie, Frozen, than the hot topic of The State of the Union address. I’m more apt to read Dr. Seuss than Dr. Anyone Else Adult.

The other day, our family went out to brunch. The waiter asked me if I wanted more coffee. I looked at the table and said, “Uh, I can’t find my cup.” The waiter responded generously, “Um, ma’am, It’s in your hand.”

I didn’t make this interaction up, folks! Maybe, I should be blaming it on my toddler!

So I googled “Mommy Brain”, and found some interesting stuff. It turns out that our babies aren’t the only ones growing. According to a study, the grey matter in mom’s brain actually grows too! It gets bigger in the areas of the hypothalamus, prefrontal corext and amygdala. These areas control emotional regulation, motivation, planning and foresight! Not bad, mamas!

The authors of the article do suggest that memory lapses, such as forgetting names (or that one’s coffee cup is in one’s hand), may be due to a shifting set of priorities.

I like that one better too. I would rather say that my priorities have changed to caring for my daughter than to say I have “Mommy Brain”.

Yeah, I’m going with that one, and with the fact that I have a bigger brain since having Claire!

What do you think? Have you had "Mommy Brain" moments? Do you think "Mommy Brain" is real or an old wives' tale?Connect with: Bloglovin', FB, Twitter, G+, PinterestThis photo is public domain, but it's use does not suggest that the licenser endorses me, it's use or this blog.Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

We all know “Who are you wearing?” is reserved for the red carpet. I doubt anyone would come up to a mom like me on the street and ask that question. If they did, well, that would just be creepy.

Yet, for a year and a half, I had a very fine answer to this question. I wore a person of distinction almost daily. I wasn’t wearing Cavalli or Chanel...

I was wearing Claire.

Clearly, my daughter and I aren't red-carpet ready. But if we had the opportunity and Ryan Seacrest were to use his astute journalistic skills to query further about my extraordinary baby outfit, I would reply with great enthusiasm and pride. I would say that she's made entirely by hand. I would tell him that I worked on my creation for over nine months, and that she required intensive labor. I would say that I count my daily accessory as priceless and unique -- couture in the best sense of the word.

But he's probably not going to ask, and I probably won't walk the red carpet in my one-of-a kind creation. That's okay. I did get to do this:

And, now that Claire is older, I get to do this:

Clothes aren't really the point here, are they? Really, you barely noticed what I'm wearing in these photos, did you?

When I look at each picture, I do see a "who". I see my daughter. I notice myself in relation to another. I notice a connection between two people, between mama and child.

Sure, you can really, really like a dress on the red carpet. But love doesn't come from fancy clothes or make-up or big parties.

Moms and friends! Some of my lovely blogger buddies and I thought we would have fun combining the #365FeministSelfie with Award Season in this post and in a link-up. The #365FeministSelfie is all about showing women as they are, no filter, no primping, no perfection, and perhaps no makeup. Pretty much the complete opposite of the Award Season Red Carpet drama-rama. So we’re asking you...

Who are YOU wearing? Link up a post with a picture and/or some text below. And, remember, COME AS YOU ARE!

Sunday, January 26, 2014

There are the obvious reasons for feeling good. I've crossed something off my to-do list. I have an overall sense of accomplishment. I've worked off the chocolates that my lovely husband got for me the other day.

But when I say, "I feel good", I mean so much more. My head feels good. I feel lighter, more optimistic and relaxed. Love abounds in my heart for family, neighbors and mankind. Picture me with a skip in my step, humming the song, I Can See Clearly Now, as the serotonin balances in my brain.

I need to workout. When I don't exercise, the stress in my life turns into dark thoughts, irritability, and a struggle to accomplish daily tasks.

It's workout, go on Prozac or be depressed. I've done all three. I prefer the first option, and have chosen exercise for many years. I haven't always wanted to get to the gym. There have been times that it was hard to fit it into my schedule.

But working out is a commitment that I have made to myself and my mental health. I'm grateful that exercise has worked for me as well as any pill.

Now, I have Claire. I'm finding it harder to honor that commitment. Frankly, it's easier to find time to blog. I can sit at home while she's sleeping and write. I've never been an exercise tape kind of girl. I'm tired. I don't have a ton of free time. The list goes on.

I don't easily recognize the slow slide into depression either. Remember the frog sitting in a pot of water on the stove? She's slowly boiled, because she doesn't feel the rising temperature. I'm like her. I notice the dark side of myself only in contrast, when I feel differently than dark.

In general, we moms have a hard time taking care of ourselves. It's ironic, though, that at a time when we need to be our best selves for our children, we find it challenging to attend to our needs. So many other priorities seem to trump us and our pesky needs.

I do notice I'm not taking care of myself, though. I notice when I return from a workout and feel differently than dark.

Like today. That's when I remember that my daughter deserves a mom who feels this good. I am a better mom when I feel this good. I deserve to say, "I feel good" and really mean it.

Photo Source: Mike Baird, Flickr, this photo has been altered and does not suggest that the licensor endorses me or its useLicense

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Thursday, January 23, 2014

My poor little baby had cold feet for the first time in her life. Actually, I think it was her first experience with cold, in general. It isn't hyperbole to say that it took me an hour to warm up those little piggies. I rubbed and rubbed each tiny, icy foot over and over again -- like I thought a genie would come out of one of them, if I kept at it long enough.

I don't know who was more traumatized, her or me. Actually, I take that back. It was me. You see my husband, George, had taken her for an impromptu THREE hour trip to the zoo in FORTY degree weather wearing ONLY canvas sneakers!

Really, I was mortified.

I considered being mad along with mortified. But I’m trying to be more philosophical since having a kid. I can definitely cut him some slack this time too. First of all, how great is it that Claire and her papa went to the zoo together? Second, George doesn't mean to be reckless. He’s barely used to being married, let alone having a child. There's a learning curve to fatherhood, just like anything else.

Same goes for motherhood. While I'm a stickler for schedules and routines, George would probably say I'm an old stick in the mud. He puts up with my neurotic need to make sure she eats on time, always has a nap at the appointed hour and that she's never, ever cold.

In other words, that Claire has a boring mommy, who doesn't know the meaning of the word "spontaneous" and never does anything fun with her daughter.

I'm the yin to George's yang, the traditional to his non-traditional. We compliment each other nicely. So Claire can go on adventures and explore with her papa, and, then, come home to the warmth and security of her mama.

(In the future, I will just have to be more careful that I supervise my husband's sartorial choices for our daughter more closely. In truth, I could learn to lighten up a bit too. But don't let my husband in on this confession, please.)

Sunday, January 19, 2014

I am a perfectionist in certain areas of my life. DIY is not one of them. I know my limitations. The bar is set very low. I expect to have a fail of the pin variety. I’m shocked, pleasantly surprised, when my endeavors come even close to the bright and shiny picture.

You may be expecting a post hating on Pinterest right about now. Something along the lines of: Pinterest makes mamas like me feel inadequate or pressured to be perfect.

Or, maybe, something like: Pinterest is reactionary, a throw back to the days when a mom’s worth was measured by her ability to make an apple pie (or play-doh).

I've read posts that say as much, and know that Pinterest has become another great divide between mamas. I find myself resting somewhere in the middle -- a craft-impaired mother who loves Pinterest. You might say I'm looking to become a Pinterest peacemaker, so to speak.

I love Pinterest despite the fact that my DIY adventures are more likely to be pin fails than pin-worthy. I’m glad there are women other than me -- the ones who actually possess the crafting gene -- who come up with ingenuous ideas and recipes that wouldn’t occur to me in a million years.

They’ve given me the know-how to actually make stuff with my daughter, which is the definition of quality time for me. When play-doh is made at home, it is somehow infused with the good vibes of having your hand in it and of being together. And, just to clarify, our homemade experiments don't mean that I am obligated to always make play-doh every time. We have the store-bought kind too, but I digress.

I do believe that there is power in making things by hand, though. Yes, I am incredibly grateful that Amazon Prime opens up a whole world of consumer goods, which appear at my door, as if by magic. I am likewise glad that making play-doh is the perfect tonic to an Amazon shopping experience. I want Claire to learn that clicking a button on her computer doesn't count as agency or effort.

And that agency and effort count for something -- I want Claire to value process as much as product. Actually, when I really think about it, I'm even more of a fan of Pinterest because of the Pin fail. I am trying to teach Claire to embrace the fact that things don’t always turn out the way that you expect (which is often the case with a craft-impaired mama like me. She will be well schooled in this lesson). I want her to see that mistakes can yield surprising results too.

No, we did not create finger paint like the lovely picture above. The result of our toil together was much, much more like slime (what’s ironic is that I put in the green dye BEFORE it went the way of pin fail). But, guess what, Claire loved it!

No, I will never be Martha Stewart. I don’t need to be. My daughter needs a mama not a Martha anyway.

Connect with: Bloglovin', FB, Twitter, G+, PinterestPhoto Source: Aaron Gilson, FlickrWelcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Christmas has a way of reverberating into the New Year and beyond. Much to my dismay, I will surely be confronting pine needles in the nooks and crannies of my home long after the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbing along. Much to my dismay, I will continue to relive the moment during this holiday season when a beloved childhood memory of mine was crushed.

It all began as innocently as childhood itself. George and Claire were ripping the paper off a Christmas gift with great anticipation. My daughter excitedly pulls a box from its wrapping and George says, “Oh, cool! Candy Land!”

I’m flooded -- not with distinct memories, but with the intense but inchoate images and feelings of a young child. I don’t remember the game’s specifics or its characters. I feel happiness about winding along a path of friendly colors through a swirling world of sweet fancy.

I lean in to look at the box with Claire…

Candy Land's gotten a sexy makeover.

I'm flooded again. This time with rage, helplessness and disappointment along with a barrage of thoughts:

“Ah, not my Candy Land! Is nothing sacred? My Candy Land didn't have creepy bimbettes posing around the board! This game’s supposed to be for little kids! Can’t we just wait a few years?... Oh, shit, get over yourself, Rachel. You are such a control freak. You can’t shield Claire from everything in this world. There are so many other things to worry about than the sexualization of a dumb board game. She can still enjoy the game… Maybe, I’m just pissed I can't recreate my own past through my daughter. Or, maybe, I’m becoming one of those ‘things aren’t the way they used to be’ kind of cliches.”

As the wheels in my head spin, Claire and George open the box and look at the pieces. Another newly-opened game sits on the table next to Candy Land. Claire points to Chutes and Ladders, the green and blue board filled with children of diverse racial backgrounds playing actively, absorbed and engaged -- how I would like Claire to imagine herself in her world. She looks at Candyland…

“Mama, Candy Land is for girls and Chutes and Ladders is for boys,” she says.

The screaming in my head comes to a screeching halt. Claire cuts through my bullshit every time. Out of the mouths of babes is how the saying goes.

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Sunday, January 5, 2014

is the mantra that runs through my head, when I'm trying to find a Zen place in the face of a day’s worth of toddler chaos. Unfortunately, a few hours into said day, I start talking back to the voices in my head.

“But this is the THIRD time she’s literally spilled her milk! You said I can’t cry. What about screaming? PLEASE let me scream, please! I’ll feel so much better,” I say plaintively.

Some days, I do scream….but I don’t feel better.

Other days, I remember that I actually subscribe to the philosophy that making messes is part of the process of learning. On good days, I teach my daughter a spirit of experimentation and a love of discovery, unencumbered by the fear of the outcome of her endeavors. I remember that I really love this quote from Roald Dahl.

(Dahl was referring to stuff like climbing trees, but giving a toddler a glass of milk qualifies as “risk” in my book.)

On good days, I give her the space to make messes, so she can learn to clean them up. I show her that mistakes can be opportunities and that mistakes can be fixed.

I am a believer.

What no one told me was how much tension would exist between my tolerance level for chaos and my philosophy about how to grow a healthy child and learner.

How about when motherhood seems a feat of endurance? Bad days where the disaster around me seems to be keeping pace with my internal state of mind. Days when I feel less of an idealistic teacher and more like Sisyphus.

That's when it's best to let go the mantle of both idealist and Sisyphus. I need to strip away my beliefs about how things should go.

Nothing stands between Claire and me -- our relationship is at its most essential.

I see a child just being. I see a mom loving her child and her child's beingness very, very much.

At the heart of the matter, that's all we need to remember.

Connect with: Bloglovin', FB, Twitter, G+, PinterestWelcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Thursday, January 2, 2014

I asked a friend of mine about his New Year’s Eve, and he responded candidly: “I don’t drink

anymore, so I find my drunk friends annoying. They either can't hold a conversation or they act crazy.”

In return, I joked that his night sounded like daily life with a toddler. My friend has a teenager, so he
commiserated about not missing those times. We started talking about how much toddlers remind us of drunk people in many uncanny ways. They both:

1) Can’t walk a straight line2) Are loud and unruly in social situations3) Spill their drink4) Fall randomly5) Cry 6) Slur their words7) Are prone to taking their clothes off in public8) Have no sense of personal space9) Spare no one the ugly truth10) Suffer from memory loss11) Shouldn’t operate heavy machineryToddlers and drunks are opposite in one important way though. When you are sober around a toddler, you really want a drink. When you are sober around drunks, you never want to drink again.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, FRIENDS! May 2014 be a year of health, happiness, love and prosperity for you and yours.